Nosedive
by illustrater
Summary: It seems that a few people outside of the Order have finally figured out how important Hermione's mind is to the postwar organization process. She's been missing for a while, and turns up on Hogwarts' doorstep with someone that no one would have imagined
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: you know the drill

OoOo

Prologue

The people just looked like ants from up here, wandering around the grounds as a breeze blew past the branches of the Forbidden Forest. Did it ever have another name, a real name?

_Guess I'll never know now,_ Hermione thought vaguely. Though the thought didn't seem too terrible. She was absolutely, undeniably _compelled_ to launch herself off the top of the East Tower, aside from that little voice in her head that seemed to go hoarse with yelling…

_No, no, no…_

Step up onto the ledge. It's a beautiful view, isn't it?

_No, no, no…_

You want to be part of that, don't you?

_... no…_

Yes… step forward. Doesn't the wind feel wonderful?

…_no… no…no…_

Let it carry you. Jump now.

_No…_

NOW!

_NO!_

The result was something along the lines of what Harry had done in fourth year. The mixed signals led to a conflict of neurons… and so Hermione's legs buckled, breaking the control of the Imperious, but leaving her a bit off-balance.

A bit off-_everything_ really, as she now found herself gaining speed as she hurtled towards the ground. Luckily for our story, time slows down during a crisis, and so Hermione had a brief moment to wonder why she couldn't remember the past eight months, and recalled only vaguely the process of falling from the top of Hogwarts. She wondered why she was there, exactly, seeing as she had graduated following the war five years ago. She did not know that it was five years to the day, and that the people wandering the grounds below her were celebrating the anniversary of Lord Voldemort's defeat. She then concluded, somewhere around ten stories above the festivities, that rescue seemed impossible, and though she was quite young, she had a good life and would be missed by her friends and colleagues.

Luckily for Hermione, someone from the grounds below had screeched loudly enough for someone next to a high window to hear and wonder what the hell was going on. Draco Malfoy was always a nosy bastard, and so popped his head out the window. He looked down, left, right: nothing. He looked up.

In the interest of saving his own neck (from being broken by a falling body), he sputtered out a _wingardium leviosa_. Hermione stopped.

_Am I flying?_

Nothing happened. She was invisibly suspended from below, and so glanced down.

It was then that Draco Malfoy realized that the suicidal maniac who decided to launch herself off the building was none other than his fiancé.

"Blaise?" he muttered weakly, head and wand still out the window. His friend looked up from the mirror and tilted his head questioningly. "It seems that Persephone has decided to take the jump."

"You told me she accepted your proposal last week," Blaise responded blankly.

"From the tower."

Blaise hustled over to the window to look up. "Ah." He glanced at Draco. "Are you going to bring her inside, or no?"

"Oh, yes." Draco blinked, slowly moving his wand to bring her down to his level. "Of course." He tilted slightly to let her peer inside and set her down on the solid stone floor, which she stepped onto like a ballerina landing a grand jeté. She was in the boys' bathroom.

Draco took her hand nervously. "Are you all right?"

Hermione looked at him with all the warmth of a first meeting with Aragon.

"Persephone," he muttered, and giving a nearly watery smirk, enveloped her in a hug. "Why would you ever do that? You had me terribly worried."

Blaise snorted in agreement. "Persephone?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"Yes, you," Draco replied, suddenly businesslike. "You're all out of sorts. Here, take a look at yourself."

Hermione looked in the mirror. Staring back at her was a woman with light blonde hair and a somewhat sharper face, who was maybe twenty pounds lighter than she remembered being. It didn't look like her at all, apart from the brown eyes that met hers perfectly, widened, and rolled back. She landed with an echoing thunk on the bathroom floor.

"Well it wasn't _that_ bad," Blaise remarked conversationally, looking at the now-unconscious woman. "Honestly, a bit of rouge and she would have been perfectly fine."

"Only whores and muggle-borns wear rouge, Blaise," Draco replied. He wet a handkerchief under the faucet and patted Hermione's forehead. "She'll be fine, though do you think that Madam Pomfrey will be in the Hospital Wing?

Blaise sighed. "We might as well check," he resigned. Draco nodded, stood, and levitated his fiancé for the second time that day.

OoOo

a/n: we never get to see fics that start mid-action, so I thought I'd give it a go. The plot is still rolling around in my head though, so let me know if there's anything you'd like in there. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: not mine

OoOoOo

_up_

…

_up_

…

_up NOW!_

Hermione jerked upright, hearing her gasp echo and bounce back to her from the cold stone walls. Disembodied noises of terror are not the most comforting thing to wake up to. She felt a sudden pang that, if she had more time to examine it, would have been a physical yearning for something warm and soft. It was nowhere nearby, that was certain. It seemed, actually, as if the nearest warm and comfortable thing could have been miles away; this room looked more like something she had forgotten, sterile and empty…

And something grabbed her wrist.

Without thinking, Hermione mustered up a surprisingly powerful right cross and hit the blond ghoul in the ear. It wasn't until she saw it redden and begin to swell that she registered the twisted grimace of Draco "the ferret" Malfoy in intense pain, and slightly to the left.

"I believe she's awake," a man said from beside him with an expression of mockingly polite surprise etched across his dark features.

Malfoy opened his eyes for a moment, giving a look of pure hatred to nothing in particular and then closing them again as if the stupidity was simply too much to bear. "I be_lieve_," he ground out, "that you've volunteered to fetch Pomfrey. Tell her Persephone's—_reflexes_—have fully returned."

"Righto. Though times like these I am quite jealous of your skin tone; it turns such amusing shades."

"Heh." Staring daggers. The darker man rose from his seat and disappeared into an office at the other end of what Hermione now recognized as the infirmary.

So she was in the hospital wing. Well, that was one answer at least. But what about everything else? What time was it? What day was it? Who was doing… whatever the hell was going on?

She turned towards the only available resource. "Malfoy, I--,"

And he kissed her.

On the mouth.

For NO REASON WHATSOEVER.

She wasn't sixteen anymore, this was not a big deal. With anyone else. Hermione pulled her mouth away from Malfoy's with a physical retch, and said probably the most important question she could think of.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?"

Malfoy didn't even blink. He instead adopted a frighteningly sincere expression with the slightest bit of pity drawn across his forehead. "I know you're not well, Persephone…"

Hermione recalled something. "Pers--?"

"Quiet, love, let me finish," Malfoy cut across with the same expression. "As I was saying, though you're not well," he began, bringing his hand to her neck and seemingly not noticing her flinch, "the wedding is soon. You must be able to withstand pressure as soon as possible," he grinned. His hand moved under her bedsheet, towards her pelvis, and he leaned in for another kiss, breathing up against her lips. "All kinds of pressure…"

Hermione punched him again, this time in the chest. "Jesus_ Christ_, what is _wrong_ with you?!" She frantically searched for her wand under the sheets, near the bed, anywhere within sight.

Malfoy took about five seconds to realize what she was doing. He sighed. "_Petrificus Totalus_."

Hermione snapped to place.

Satisfied, Malfoy pocketed his wand and muttered something. Hermione could hear the words "side-effects" among several colorful expletives, and kept her eyes angrily fastened to his face when the damned albino finally did look up.

He was biting down irritation, Hermione could hear it in his voice when he began again. "I'm not sure what has gotten into you. My theory is that you've been hexed, so please, don't do anything stupid that you may regret when you come to. Not that I know what kind of curse it is…" he sighed and kissed her again, the bind preventing her from retaliating.

How could she get out of this? she wondered, desperate to be anywhere else with anyone other than _him_. The only available solution was some astral projection. Ignoring his voice, she finally closed her eyes.

She was floating off somewhere mentally. Somewhere that showed, in vivid and minute detail, every possible way to maim, torment or kill the man that hovered over her now. Many, she noted with satisfaction, involved castration. He was talking again, laying his head on her chest like a ratty, unwanted old dog who just wanted some attention but just needed to be thrown into the woods. _Suppose Hagrid hasn't been too much of an influence on me,_ she mused.

"—Nee, and I do love you. But how can I honestly respect your wishes when you seem perfectly fine one moment and off in a fit the next? I remember--"

Hermione had started at one of her older, lesser known nicknames (less popular than Beaver, slightly older than Bookworm) but stopped listening at the strange effect her boredom had had on her. It seemed her face was falling asleep.

"…I just didn't know whether or not to throw you into the West Dungeon of the manor. Clinging to house elves, for Merlin's sake! No wonder—"

It was actually very uncomfortable. The rest of her body was fine, for the most part. But what an odd, pins-and-needles sensation. Malfoy was still on her chest, maybe his fat head had cut off the circulation to her face. Her scalp was tingling, too.

"--Sometimes it just seems as if you're two people. I love all of it, but couldn't you temper them a bit?" He paused.

"Nee?"

He picked his head up to look at her. "Persephone, I asked you a quest--AAHHHHH!"

He was on the other side of the room so fast, she doubted she could have beat him Apparating. Well, maybe the love potion that had been used on him finally worn off. It seemed the most likely explanation, Hermione reasoned, warily eyeing the hand he had chosen to point at her in accusation.

"YOU! Granger, what the _hell_ are you doing here?" He hurled her name back at her like an insult. _Well, at least he's stopped calling me 'Persephone.'_

She glared in response. Obviously, with the body-bind still on her, she couldn't talk.

And it was like this that the black man and Madam Pomfrey found them—Hermione looking quite different from Persephone but laying in the latter's bed with her arms fastened to her sides, and Malfoy a good fifteen feet away with the expression of one trying not to catch the e-coli virus.

"This is interesting," the dark man summed up. Pomfrey threw him a look, but he seemed not to notice.

"Mister Malfoy, what exactly is going on here?" she asked.

Malfoy dropped his arm and looked at Madam Pomfrey as if he had just seen her for the first time. He cleared his throat. "Well," he began, aristocratic sneer reemerging, "I was over by the bed, tending to Persephone – she had become quite fitful—and when I was readjusting her covers, I looked back up at her face, which inexplicably had turned into Granger's." He puffed himself up. "I moved away because, as I am sure you know, I try not to associate myself with her type."

Said "type" glared at his profile with utmost hatred. If only looks could kill…

"Well then." Madam Pomfrey looked irritated with the pompous ass, but looked over at Hermione instead of saying anything to that effect. "Miss Granger? Care to explain what happened?"

Hermione returned her look blankly. _If I could move, maybe…_

"Miss Granger?" Pomfrey said again. Hermione rolled her eyes. "_Miss Granger?_"

Malfoy started, but took an aura of reluctance when he actually raised his wand. "_Finite Incantatem,_" he said in a monotone, pointing it at Hermione. She instantly moved her head, eagerly regaining the feeling in her spine. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey glared at Malfoy. He shrugged. "I did say that she had become fitful."

Madam Pomfrey Rolled her eyes while the dark man, who had maintained an expression of polite curiosity through the whole ordeal, broke into an amused smile. "Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey began again, "what happened?"

Hermione smiled, finally able to move and breathe comfortably. "I'm not quite certain the circumstances," she began, "but I woke up with someone clutching my wrist. It was Malfoy, so I shook him off."

Malfoy muttered something, but Hermione ignored it.

"That was about the time this young man—er, I'm sorry, what was your name?"

The dark man smiled and moved to shake her hand. "Blaise Zabini—we were in the same year at Hogwarts." Hermione looked surprised at this, and so he added, "I kept a low profile."

Hermione smiled. "Hermione Granger, it's a pleasure to meet you. As I was saying, Mr. Zabini went off to fetch you, and then Malfoy _jumped _me."

"I did no such thing!" Malfoy yelled back. "I _kissed_ my _fiancée!_"

"Well, you must be mistaken, because you kissed me instead."

Pomfrey sent Malfoy a silencing glare. He threw up his hands in protest, but she had already turned around to listen once more to the bed-ridden girl.

"Yes, and so I pushed him off of me, and he must have thought I was 'becoming fitful,'" she glared, "so he put me under a body-bind. Then he kissed me again, laid down with his head on my chest and rambled on about our supposed _relationship_ for five minutes before he looked back up, finally realized I wasn't his beloved Persephone and removed himself from my person."

Malfoy opened his mouth again to protest, but was cut off by Madam Pomfrey. "Did you feel anything at all strange during this span?"

Hermione thought briefly. "It felt like the skin on my face and scalp had fallen asleep," she offered lamely. Madam Pomfrey nodded.

"It would seem that someone had placed you under a temporary Glamour Charm, Miss Granger. The feeling of numbness was the charm wearing off."

"Don't women do that to themselves all the time?" Zabini asked. Hermione shook her head.

"No. I don't wear make-up, either."

"Make-up?" Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows, obviously not understanding the term.

"Well, it is more understandable that you didn't recognize the sensation, then," Madam Pomfrey said, more to herself than anyone else. She looked up at Hermione. "The letter of the current news is, however, that no one has seen you for months. Mr. Malfoy, how long had you been seeing Persephone?"

"About eight months, almost to the day. Why—no." Malfoy's eyes widened enough to see the whites around his irises. "That can't be right."

"What can't?" Hermione asked warily.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "This is going to be a whole new problem, but what has probably happened is whatever concealment charms were being used to make you look or act different wore off today." She cleared her throat and said reluctantly, "Miss Granger, oddly enough, you're both correct. You and Persephone are one and the same."

OoOoOo

a/n: well, hopefully this turned out ok. The plot thickens hehe! And Blaise isn't just standing around, he'll be important later. Oh yes, and Persephone is pronounced "per-SEFF-oh-nee," for those of you who didn't know. I thought it'd be a nice alter-ego name for Hermione.

Anyways, let me know what you think. Til next time!


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